


Fake It through the Day

by Anonymous



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Negative Thoughts, Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, Set during lockdown, because he's so shy, but i might continue this, george is alone and hurts and doesn't know the three others, that's the plot, they've got discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: George has joined a Discord server on which three other guys like to talk about music.He'd love to talk with them; he knows he should. He's just too shy to do it.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Anonymous





	Fake It through the Day

**Author's Note:**

> The titles comes from Miss Misery by Elliott Smith.
> 
> This work is definitely not about me.

George’s phone buzzes, interrupting his playing. No matter how engrossed he is in the tune he’s working on, he never fails to hear that sound. He feels drawn to it, and today is no exception.

He unlocks the screen and peruses the notifications.

The boys are talking on Discord again.

George should have deleted the app a thousand years ago, or just muted these notifications. They’re pointless. He has never been active on that server. He _won’t_ ever be active on that server, he doesn’t need any special ability to predict the future to sure of that.

Still. His finger hovers above the screen for a few seconds before giving in oh-so quickly.

There it is. The app kindly puts him back to where the new messages began arriving. It starts with a link to a YouTube video.

_Paulie: Did you guys know this cover? It’s amazing_

_John actually elvis: fvkjhgcgzk_

_John actually elvis: why tf does that little thing sound like elvis more than I do_

_John actually elvis: I’ve been trying for ages_

_rINGO: sounds awesome. Remind me to not use headphones next time_

George clicks on the link. YouTube takes over. Once he’s watched enough adds, the video finally starts. It’s a baby crying to the sound of Heartbreak Hotel. George grimaces and goes back to Discord. Staring again at the conversation that is going on. Some other people have joined, reacting to the awful video. They’re all good-spirited. From disgusted rejection to ironic enthusiasm, each of them has their own way of hating it.

It’s meaningless. Nothing life-changing is being said. It shouldn’t interest him. George should close the app now, maybe even curse these guys he doesn’t know for making him lose his time.

He can’t do that. The conversation that unrolls in front of his eyes as he reads on and on represents everything he wants and cannot have.

_Talk._ How does one do that again?

George doesn’t know. He frowns and blinks and realises his screen turned black again. The boys have started talking about something else while he was lost in his thoughts.

_Paulie: @John actually elvis @rINGO anyway lads, any news from the band?_

_John actually elvis: you mean the band we don’t have yet_

_Paulie: I don’t need to know you guys in person to know we’re a great band_

_rINGO: god i can’t wait for lockdown to be over. I want to play the drums with you all instead of being in my mom’s garage_

_John actually elvis: can’t blame you son. My auntie is going to disown me if I play Maggie Mae in front of her once more_

_Paulie: which is why we need to find a proper guitarist. So we’re ready to play as soon as we’re allowed to leave our caves and dungeons_

_John actually elvis: gonna do this again then?_

_Paulie: yep_

_rINGO: oh no they’re gonna murder us_

_Paulie: @everyone is anyone interested in becoming the next lead guitarist of our world-know rock band? Only skillful people will be allowed. Preferably good-looking too_

_rINGO: but everyone is good-looking._

_Paulie: ofc. @everyone my apologies, you all look great today. So?_

_TheBestPete: YOU THREE NEED TO STOP THAT_

_I-van: I second my colleague, this is insufferable._

_GermanPainter: I’d join but 1) as I said, I can’t play and 2) I live in Germany_

_John actually Elvis: ask Astrid_

_GermanPainter: Astrid deleted Discord because she was tired of your perpetual @everyone_

_I-van: sTUART_

_GermanPainter: oops. Sorry._

_ErClap: I can play but there’s no way I’m joining you all_

_rINGO:_ _☹_

_rINGO: I’m not surprised though. It’s already incredible we three live in the same city, can play_

_rINGO: and had never even met before_

_Paulie: … right. Looks like it’ll only be the three of us then._

_rINGO: ah, customer. Gotta go_

_Paulie: bye Rings_

_John actually Elvis: @Paulie, private chat?_

_Paulie: YES_

No more messages appear on the screen. They’ve all left. The random people who sometimes talk on the server, and the boys too. The boys – that’s how George secretly calls the three of them – Ringo, Paul and John. They joined the server before he did, but it’s only during lockdown, a few weeks ago, that they discovered they were all from Liverpool and played different instruments. It was enough for them to decide they’d have band together, even though they can’t meet for real at the moment. George has followed every little development. He’s become invested in this, hidden in his room.

He never intervened once. He joined the server – plainly called _Classic rock_ – on one of his brave days. Then he felt overwhelmed. He didn’t even write his bio as was required of the new members. He stalked and stalked convo after convo, dying to finally say a word, wishing he’d just jump in.

He can’t.

He doesn’t know why, but he can’t. He wasn’t always shy, it came upon him slowly a few years ago, and it has become a habit impossible to shake off now. Silence is his default mode, even when words make his head spin. He’d thought having a screen in front of him instead of real people would be easier, but he was wrong.

On some days, he feels it more acutely than on others. Today is precisely one of these days. Because he is trapped, trapped within himself. He could have done it. It would have been so easy. That @everyone was perfect for him. It was his calling, it was destined to him. He couldn’t have thought of a more suitable pretext to finally talk to these people he’s grown fond of. These three boys who he _knows_ he would get along with so well if only he wasn’t himself.

To think he didn’t do a thing makes him want to scream and he won’t. To think he let that chance pass could make him cry in frustration and he won’t.

Ringo’s profile picture – a cat with sunglasses – seems to be staring at him. George stares back.

Only a few words, and he might have become part of their band. He knows he’s skilled enough; he’s read their conversations enough to know they’re good too, or will be. A sense of waste is slowly creeping over him as images flash in front of his eyes.

_Yes_. The four of them, he with these guys he doesn’t know for real and who don’t even know he exists. They would have been a great band, they’d have made it big. He doesn’t know where these ideas come from; he just feels it deep down.

Now they won’t, not together. Maybe John, Paul and Ringo will make it on their own. Maybe it’ll just be a laugh, once or twice in Ringo’s garage. Maybe they will abandon that dream before it even properly started.

George will probably know if he stays glued to his phone like he usually does. It doesn’t change the fact that pure guilt is crushing him, making his shoulders drop.

He’s shy, yes he is. Locked up in his own body that makes every single human interaction feeling like an effort. An effort that, more often than not, he gives up on making.

He’s all too aware of that, he hates himself for it. He just wishes he knew why he feels as if History took a sad turn today.


End file.
